“Rhage raised his hand " Pastor Ass-hat, I have a question." "Yes my son, you are going to hell”
“There was a sniffle from the crowd. At which point, Rhage’s voice hissed, “What. This is beautiful, ’kay? Fuck all y’all.”
“Knock her dead, my man."
"Oh no." Xcor shook his head."That shan't be necessary. This one I like.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” V waved his hand-rolled around. “I’m the son of a deity and she picked you?”
“If I got to you once, I can do it again. And maybe next time I won’t waste my breath trying to prove the fact that I’m your equal.”
“I am the King, you realize.”
“And I’m the daughter of a deity, motherfucker.”
“After shoving his former clothes inside, Xcor found himself bowing at the waist. "Your assistance has been much appreciated." Antoine raised his palm like he was getting ready to do a clap on the shoulder again. But once more, he caught himself and smiled instead. "Knock her dead, my man." "Oh, no." Xcor shook his head. "That shan’t be necessary. This one I like.”
“I’m not strong enough for this,” he whispered in her ear—like he didn’t want anyone to hear that coming out of his mouth. Ever. Running her hands up his powerful back, she held him just as hard. “But I am.”
“When he got quiet again, she assumed he was done talking. Instead, he spoke up one last time: “I only have one other secret.” “What’s that?” “Don’t tell anyone . . . but I like that goddamn cat of yours.” Tilting her head to the side, Beth smiled at the Shadow. “I have a feeling . . . he’s pretty fond of you, too.”
“What kind of look are you going for?” he asked instead.
“Clothed.”
“A soooooooooooooooooooooon! I'm having a sooooooooooooooooooooooooon!”
“Okay, so, Beth, follow me. 'I, Beth, a totally awesome chick ...'"
Beth barked out a giggle. "I, Beth ..."
"Where's the 'awesome chick' part? What? Come on, I have a license from the Internet. I know what I'm doing."
Wrath nodded at his leehan. "He's right. You are, in fact, awesome. I think we need to hear it."
"Can I get an amen!" Lassiter shouted.
"Ammmmmmmmmen!" echoed throughout the mansion.
"Fine, fine, fine," she said. "I, Beth, a totally awesome chick ..."
"'... take this meathead, Wrath ...'"
"... take this meathead, Wrath ..."
"'... as my husband to have and to hold from this day forward...”
“Wrath - Beth x Overnight = Psycho-hose Beast”
“Sometimes, you didn’t get what you wanted. But if you had all you needed? Life was good.”
“By the power vested in me thanks to Google, I know pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride!”
“Rhage raised his hand. "Pastor Ass-hat, I have a question." "Yes, my son, you ARE going to hell." Lassiter made the sign of the cross and then looked around.”
“I can smell you,” he groaned against her ear as he ran his fangs up her throat. “The most beautiful thing in the world—except for your taste.”
“Rough times." Qhuinn shrugged. "And I'm not interested in saints."
"Really? You're in love with one," Layla chimed in.
As Qhuinn glanced over at Blay, his mismatched eyes narrowed.
"Damn straight I am," he said softly.
As the redhead turned red--natch--that connection between the two males became positively tangible.
Love was such a beautiful thing.”
“You love it right?" Lassiter asked, holding his Bible high. "I mean, you told me to go on the internet. I did. I even printed out my diploma or whatever the hell it's called." Opening the cover of the King James version, he took out a piece of paper and waved it around. "See? Nice and legal-like" Beth leaned in "Wow". "I know right? Just like Harvard" "Impressive" "I'm totally framing that shit, wha-what.”
“This is going to be a really long couple of months if we worry about ever little twinge."
"You just tried to throw up your liver."
"I did not."
So you were working on your pancreas?”
“When were you going to tell me?"
He demanded. "Tell you what? That you can be a real asshole? How about right now.”
“You have given me something ... I didn't even know I needed. It's the greatest gift I will ever receive--it's, like, completing me already in places I wasn't aware were empty. And yet ... in spite of all that? I don't love you one bit more. You are as important to me as you've always been." He curled down and pressed a kiss to the loose shirt she was wearing--it was one of his, actually, and wasn't that great. "I was wholly bonded to you before this, and will be after this--and forevermore."
"You're going to make me cry again."
"So cry. And let me take care of you. I got this.”
“Holy shit." Rehv shook his head and muttered, "Now we know what the zombie apocalypse looks like.”
“They are as empty without a young as we are empty without them”
“Good, glad you agree,” Wrath muttered as he cued George. The dog signaled that they’d come up to a barrier by halting, and Wrath reached out, his palm finding a sheet that was stiff and thick. Dropping his hold on the halter, he used two hands to pull it aside so he didn’t tear it from its tethers above. The voices stopped immediately. Except for one that breathed, “Holy . . . shit.” All at once there was a clattering, as if tools were being dropped to the floor—and then a rustling. Like seven males of some size had just gone down on their knees. For a moment, Wrath’s eyes teared up behind his wraparounds. “Evening,” he said, trying to be all casual. “How’s the work going?” No answer. And he could smell the stunned disbelief—it was like sautéed onions, not entirely unpleasant. “My lord,” came a low greeting. “It is a great honor to be in your presence.” He opened his mouth to blow that off . . . except as he inhaled, he realized that was the truth. For each and every one of them. They were honestly in awe and overcome. In a hoarse voice, he said, “Welcome to my home.”
“I love you. It was the tie that bound, even across the divides of death and time.”
“Sitting down beside her, he found her lower belly with his hand. "I love this."
"Love What?"
"This bump thing you got going on." He smiled. "That's our young.”
“Then I, Wrath, son of Wrath, do take you as my shellan, to watch over and care for you and any begotten young we may have, sure as I would and will my kingdom, and its citizenry. You shall be mine fore’ermore—your enemies are mine own, your bloodline to mix with mine own, your dusks and your dawns to share only with me. This bond shall ne’er be torn asunder by forces within or without—and”—here he paused—“there shall be one and only one female for all mine days, and you shall be that only queen.”
“You can call me Pastor-and before Mr. Sox Fan gets his panties in a wad, I want everyone to know I'm legit. I went online, took a minister's course in under an hour, and I'm ordained, baby.”
“She was pretty sure that if she had been, though, none of the hypotheticals would have resembled this in the slightest: surrounded by vampires, possibly pregnant, with a fallen angel in an Elvis costume mangling the ceremony from the Book of Common Prayer.”
“The angel popped his already mile high collar. "She said she wanted the holiest thing in the house to do it." "She got holey, all right," somebody muttered. "Is that Butche's Bible?" V asked. The angel flashed the goods. "Yup, and his BoC, he called it? I also got a sermon I did myself." "Saints preserve us," came from the opposite side of the crowd. "Wait, Wait, Wait." V waved his hand rolled around. "I'm the son of a deity and she picked you?”
“It would be better alone, anything is better alone but I don't think I can handle it alone.”
“While the Zionists try to make the rest of the World believe that the national consciousness of the Jew finds its satisfaction in the creation of a Palestinian state, the Jews again slyly dupe the dumb Goyim. It doesn't even enter their heads to build up a Jewish state in Palestine for the purpose of living there; all they want is a central organisation for their international world swindler, endowed with its own sovereign rights and removed from the intervention of other states: a haven for convicted scoundrels and a university for budding crooks.
It is a sign of their rising confidence and sense of security that at a time when one section is still playing the German, French-man, or Englishman, the other with open effrontery comes out as the Jewish race.”
“Leave!’ Hazel Motes cried. ‘Go ahead and leave! The truth don’t matter to you. Listen,’ he said, pointing his finger at the rest of them, ‘the truth don’t matter to you. If Jesus had redeemed you, what difference would it make to you? You wouldn’t do nothing about it. Your faces wouldn’t move, neither this way nor that, and if it was three crosses there and Him hung on the middle one, that wouldn’t mean no more to you and me than the other two. Listen here. What you need is something to take the place of Jesus, something that would speak plain. The Church Without Christ don’t have a Jesus but it needs one! It needs a new jesus! It needs one that’s all man, without blood to waste, and it needs one that don’t look like any other man so you’ll look at him. Give me such a jesus, you people. Give me such a new jesus and you’ll see how far the Church Without Christ can go!”
“It is amazing that when someone else spouts the nonsense you yourself believe you can readily perceive it as nonsense”
“And because I had been a hustler, I knew better than all whites knew, and better than nearly all of the black 'leaders' knew, that actually the most dangerous black man in America was the ghetto hustler. Why do I say this? The hustler, out there in the ghetto jungles, has less respect for the white power structure than any other Negro in North America. The ghetto hustler is internally restrained by nothing. He has no religion, no concept of morality, no civic responsibility, no fear--nothing. To survive, he is out there constantly preying upon others, probing for any human weakness like a ferret. The ghetto hustler is forever frustrated, restless, and anxious for some 'action'. Whatever he undertakes, he commits himself to it fully, absolutely. What makes the ghetto hustler yet more dangerous is his 'glamour' image to the school-dropout youth in the ghetto.These ghetto teen-agers see the hell caught by their parents struggling to get somewhere, or see that they have given up struggling in the prejudiced, intolerant white man’s world. The ghetto teen-agers make up their own minds they would rather be like the hustlers whom they see dressed ‘sharp’ and flashing money and displaying no respect for anybody or anything. So the ghetto youth become attracted to the hustler worlds of dope, thievery, prostitution, and general crime and immorality.”
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